Star-Crossed
by enomix
Summary: Sequel to "Not Even The Rain Has Such Small Hands" (read it first!). Continues the story of Tom and his strange relationship with Etheldreda, and looks at how Tom's thoughts on love and emotion evolve. Rated T for slightly dark themes. Please R&R!


Disclaimer: I only own the plot, Tom Riddle Jr belongs to JKR.

_This is a sequel to "Not Even The Rain Has Such Small Hands", please read it first!_

* * *

**Star-Crossed**

"To love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed." _- Cassandra Clare_

* * *

"Etheldreda – I cannot do this," he declared, turning away from her and walking away into the darkness.

She sat there, staring into the deep black of the forest where he had stood moments before, her thoughts soaring up like dragons and plummeting hard against the icy barks of the trees. Her stomach was a whirlwind, her soul havoc and torn.

What was life if not the pain she felt flowing cutting her veins? What was the purpose if not the star-crossed inevitability of the end?

A single tear fell down her cheek and onto her lips. She could taste the despair of her eyes; reality biting her consciousness.

What was it all for?

Was this what it had been meant to be?

Was this the end?

Was it truly?

* * *

"Please, Tom. I know that you – have a lot on your mind; but I know you. I know you well enough to know that you respect me. And I know you well enough to see that you do feel something for me. Admit it, won't you? All I'm asking is for you to be sincere."

He looked straight into her eyes, and for a second she thought to see the end of the universe in them, but in a blink they were back to their glazed inky gaze.

They were alone – she had found him on the Astronomy Tower, studying the sunrise a vacant expression masking his face. It was the early hours of the morning. She had stayed in the forest after he'd left her alone, and then she'd gone for a walk to clear her thoughts.

And she had reached a conclusion: no one knew Tom Riddle the way that she did. No one felt anything for Tom Riddle the way that she did. And she was not going to let him brush her away like that, not after… what had happened between them.

It had all been fine in the beginning. A bit strange, perhaps; but fine. After that sudden kiss after their unexpected encounter in the corridor, they'd sat in silence in the common room, embraced in front of the fireplace.

She had felt safe in his arms. She had experienced the sudden ardent nature of his abruptness, and it had driven her mind insane with elation.

Their encounters around others had remained the same as they had been previously, with their odd friendliness and occasional smiles. Yet, when they found themselves alone Ethel found her body trembling in his presence, and though she sensed some kind of invisible barrier around him, when his lips met hers she would forget about his eerie character and cold manner, surrendering herself.

But a week later, he had stopped acting as – well, human. And for days on, she could not find him. She saw him in class, but after that, he disappeared to who knew where. She had searched for him in the library, in the dungeons, even in the fields after dark. But no sign.

Until now.

She'd been on prefect patrol again and had wandered out into the grounds to clear her head when stumbled into him near the Forbidden Forest. She had not let him go; she'd pinned him against the nearest tree and kissed him furiously. Her thoughts had gone red, her blood blazing with the inhibited passion of weeks.

He had mirrored her, he'd submitted to the light spark that had ignited itself in the back of his mind.

But then he'd broken away.

And here they were now, face to face as vermilion streaks of sunlight cut the rich cobalt sky.

"I know what you want to hear, Ethel. I may be cold and surly, but what I am not is dishonest. You must value my sincerity more than the fantasies of that which I cannot feel. I'm sorry."

She stood in silence, her eyes broken.

"But everything – everything that has happened with us… Didn't that mean anything to you?" she whispered, her voice cracking as she swallowed her tears.

Tom averted his gaze. He took several deep breaths, turning towards the telescope and stepping away from her.

"I – I don't know. I don't know what this has been," he muttered, as if to himself, "Even so I know what cannot be. I would never care for you; in fact, I don't. Yet I respect you, and because of my respect I don't want to deceive you. What you felt – what _I_ felt – it wasn't real. I let myself go and perhaps too much so, but I swear that I can't. I cannot love you; not now, not ever."

The witch moved closer towards him, her eyes still moist and her expression dismal.

"You just need time," she whispered.

Tom turned brusquely, his eyes fervid with an intensity she had never seen before. They seemed to rage, wrath radiating from his gaze like an invisible fountain of lost hopes.

"No. I don't need time. Time is irrelevant. An infatuation can be preserved if it is prompted correctly; but I am not infatuated. When I look around, do you know what I see?" he cried, his face inches away from hers now.

"I see couples that talk and kiss and laugh for the sake of it – putting themselves that the mercy of someone else in such a pathetic way, submitting their very souls when they know that what they share is doomed to end."

"Is that what you think of me?" she demanded, drying her face and raising her voice. "That I'm pathetic?"

"Why would I think that?" he asked, half-quizzically.

"Because… because I love you."

He waited before responding, weighing his words carefully.

"You do not love me, Ethel. You don't love me because you don't know me. And out of respect – I cannot let you see me. I'm sorry. Actually, I'm not. What happened between us – it didn't mean anything. I lost control but I cannot do this with you; not with you, not with anyone."

"But if you let me know you, if you let me understand you," she whispered.

"No. I am alone; in my solitude I am protected. Nobody knows me. No one but myself. And that will never change – you think you know who I am, but you have no idea."

"Nothing you say will make me change my mind. I love you." She was murmuring into his ear now. "And I always will."

Tom pushed her back, moving towards the balcony again. The sky was now more orange than black, as if hell had broken out onto the heavens and was ready to fall back down again.

"You're young, Ethel. You are not like me; you _need_ love. I thought you might be different, but you're just like the rest, just a bit more self-aware. You're all the same. _Love_. That's all you care about. In a few years your father will arrange your engagement to some rich pureblood and you will fulfill your duties as a good daughter and wife, all while you fantasize about how there _is_ something that links you with him when really he couldn't care less about you. And it will hurt when you succumb to him, it will hurt when you see he doesn't love you. You think love is beautiful and lovely? It brings nothing but madness and agony. It's only an illusion. Beneath it all, there is nothing. Nothing whatsoever."

"You don't understand, do you Tom? I want _you_."

He turned towards her.

He could see the pleading, the sorrow, the torment and the passion in her gaze, desire piercing his eyes as her words hung in the air. It was then he realized the magnitude of her feelings, feelings _he_ had evoked in one he had considered his equal.

But she was no more.

Her body trembled as he approached her, stopping only a few steps away from where she stood.

"You really think that I can love you?" he inquired.

Etheldreda hesitated before replying.

"I _know_ so," she breathed.

His hands were on her shoulders now, and he could feel her pulse speeding up as he pulled his face closer to hers.

"Have it your way," he whispered, setting his lips on hers.

Ethel had never experienced anything like it; they'd kissed before but _this_, this was different. It was as if the wizard had lost all control over his mind and had given in to passion, his arms tightening around her back and his kiss reckless and fervent.

* * *

Later on in the morning she'd awoken to find herself alone in the Tower. She still wasn't able to take in what had happened in those early hours – Tom's sudden explosion of fierce passion and how it clashed so violently with his previous cold words.

He was nowhere to be seen.

Ethel got up, buttoning up her robes properly and walking down to breakfast. Emilia Riverbourne looked inquiringly at her, murmuring something about how she hadn't seen Ethel in the dormitory that morning and that whatever she'd been up to couldn't have been good. Ethel had simply eaten in silence.

Saturday.

Perhaps he'd gone to Hogsmeade on an errand. And it was only normal that Tom would wish to clear his thoughts after – after what had just occurred.

She bumped into Professor Dumbledore on her way to the dormitory, who called after her.

"Good morning, Miss Hunt," he greeted calmly.

"Hello, Professor," she replied, waiting for an answer. There wasn't one; Dumbledore merely stood looking at her in silence.

"Sorry, sir; is there something you wanted to talk to me about? Is it about my essay on the applications of Transfiguration in the field of Defense Against the Dark Arts? Did I forget to hand something in?"

He shook his head.

"No, your work is as outstanding as ever," he answered, still looking enigmatically at her. "But there _is _something I would like to talk to you about."

"Yes?"

"It's about Mr Riddle. I'm afraid he seems to have disappeared this morning and I was wondering if you could tell me where I might find him? I have been trying to address him about a very urgent matter but he seems to have been evading me quite skilfully."

Ethel shook her head.

"I don't know where he is, Professor. He might have gone to Hogsmeade…"

"No," he interrupted. "The gates of the Castle are always closed before breakfast. But no matter, I will find him eventually."

* * *

"Where have you been?" she hissed, looking at him displeasingly. "You've been gone for ages and after the other night… I wanted to see you again, to talk to you about what happened."

She'd just bumped into him as she strolled through the fields that night. He gave no response, just looked into her eyes vacantly, so she continued, disregarding his iciness.

"Professor Dumbledore was looking for you."

The wizard remained in silence.

"Tom! Are you listening to me? I – I thought I might not ever see you again; after what he said. That perhaps you'd gone off somewhere and weren't coming back."

His gaze seemed to fall out of nullity and into existence.

"And did that make you feel happy?" he asked, taking a step towards her.

"No," she whispered.

"Why. Tell me why," he demanded.

She stared at him, surprised. "Because… because I missed you. I missed your friendship; I missed your company. Because I love you. Because I have loved you since as long as I can remember."

He did not respond until a few moments later.

"You want to know where I've been? I've been setting my mind straight. I've been remembering the past, _my_ past, remembering everything that I've ever done, everything that I've become. If you knew half of it, you would run away from me, frightened. You wouldn't believe the things I've done.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. I can never love you, Ethel. And you know what you've shown to me? You know what you've demonstrated in the way you've given yourself to me, how you hope for everything to go well and the way you desire with every inch of your being that I mirror your sentiment? That you're no different. You and me, we may be alike, but in no way are we the same." His voice was getting stronger now, the power of his speech growing as his words became keen as blades.

"You still love. You live a passion that I've never before experienced, you've surrendered your soul and it lies in my hands, it's twisted with my fate. I understand what drove my mother mad now. In you, I can see how her mind gave way to insanity, and I renounce it."

A tear was rolling down her cheek, but he took no notice.

"You are no different! You're just like the rest of them!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the trees. His eyes had turned from vacant to irritated to incensed.

"Don't you _see_ what it does to you?! Don't you see what your precious feelings do to you? They strip you of your humanity, they make you vulnerable! I thought I could make you see how that weakened you; but you're just like them all! You are all feeble and defenceless, you just don't _realize_ it do you?

"How can you expect me to let myself become so weak; give in to sentiment? Did you _really_ believe that I could ever grow to feel something for you?"

"Stop – please, Tom; stop!" she cried, but he disregarded her pleas.

"I _need_ to be stronger, Ethel; I need you to understand!" he shouted, his hands on her shoulders and his face almost touching hers as his eyes implored livid comprehension.

"I cannot let this – this weakness stop me! I have overcome it; I am free; my fate lies in my hands alone. I need to you understand it, Ethel. Do you? _DO YOU?!"_

The girl's face trickled with tears, her body quivering.

"You're going mad – you're just stressed because of everything that's been going on – let me help you, don't try to suppress yourself, it will only bring you pain," she whispered shakily. "Being alone will not bring you restfulness; and love may hurt, but at least I accept my own feelings, I'm at peace with myself. I can help you. I can help you come to terms with yourself. All you have to do is let me."

Tom looked away from her abruptly.

"You cannot help me."

She put her arms around him. "I don't know what you've been through, but I've seen your gaze when you think nobody's watching. You're terrified, you're lost. I'm your friend, and friends help each other out. I can accept that you don't return my feelings; I am not a simple teenager. I just want you to let me reach out to you, I want you to let me help you. You're not at peace with yourself, Tom."

He turned around.

"There is only one way you can help me," he muttered, half under his breath. "There is only one way forward. It has already begun."

"Then let me," she said, her voice firm and steady now. "I don't care about what you feel, or what you say."

He subtly took out his wand from his pocket.

"I've come to doubt all I am, all I ever have been," he said aggressively. "No one else sees it, but it's there. Love has corrupted you all; there is only one way forward." His eyes were fervent with impassioned ire.

"I don't care, you just need to calm down; you need to let go of whatever is tormenting you. Let me help you."

He took a deep breath, taking a few steps toward her. Ethel looked at him inquiringly, unsure of what was going on. She could feel the tension thick in the air, his heavy breathing behind her. His eyes went black and for a second, she stood there in fright, before his lips clashed on hers and she let herself go one last time into that bliss of abandon.

"I love you, Tom."

He moved back from her, and she had barely opened her eyes when –

"_Aveda Kedavra!"_

And she fell.

Tom took stood in silence, his eyes fixed on her lifeless body.

Her eyes were still wide open, her pupils broad with shock and full of inert terror.

He walked over to her, and took one of the rings she was wearing.

It was as silver as the stars that hung overhead, glimmering in the eerie moonlight and casting odd reflections across his face. She had told him once that it was rumoured to have belonged to Salena Slytherin, the sister of Salazar Slytherin, and was a family heirloom passed down the generations.

He started to murmur the incantations, and slowly a green glimmer began to rise from Etheldreda's body, surrounding Tom and the ring and becoming ever more visible as he spoke the forbidden words.

Only one more step now. Just one drop of blood.

He raised his wand to level with his right wrist, and was just about to make a cut when he hesitated.

Ethel had wanted to help him, he said to himself. She had been hopelessly in love with him and look where it had brought her. She was no different from the rest. Truly, no different. The same weaknesses; that same vulnerability as his mother had lived within her.

_But what if he wasn't so different either?_ He had put Ethel aside, degraded her and used her, and he had killed her. He was the reason for her death.

A bitter thought crossed his mind, shaking him greatly. He tried to disregard it and say the words that would rip his soul again, making him ever more eternal and supreme. But he couldn't.

He was turning into his father.

The father that he so violently loathed, that he so intensely despised, had done to Merope exactly what he had done to Etheldreda.

The one man Tom had sworn to never be like was a mirror of himself.

And it killed him inside.

He put the ring in his pocket and the emerald mist disappeared.

"_Corpus incendiare_," he whispered, and Ethel's body burst into flames and was consumed in a matter of seconds.

The sudden silence of the leaves and trees and sky set itself about him. His body no longer quivered, his expression was no longer one of anger and anxiety – but of regret.

For the first time in his life, Tom Marvolo Riddle felt remorse. He regretted that his quest for power and his hatred towards the past had slowly been transforming him into the one man he had vowed never to become. But now, his realisation had made him stronger. He was more convinced than ever that emotion would reduce him; that he needed to be above all that would make him dependent of anyone else.

It had started long ago, his assassination of the ties that bound him to society – but now, it was truly over; now, he could see the path in front of him clearly. There was only one way to go– onwards. Alone.

* * *

Hopefully you enjoyed that - why not let me know what you thought in a review?

If you still haven't read the first part of the story (Not Even The Rain Has Such Small Hands): s/9004127/1/Not-Even-The-Rain-Has-Such-Small-Hands


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